


Oliver's Kisses

by Whovian13



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6456151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whovian13/pseuds/Whovian13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor thinks about the way Oliver makes him feel when they're in bed together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oliver's Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally do such short drabbles, but I couldn't get this out of my head. Also I've been itching to write some Coliver, so maybe I'll add to it later. We'll see.

Oliver’s kisses are the sweetest, the best kisses of my life. Sure, other men have warm lips, and deft wet tongues, and hot panting breath. But when Ollie’s soft lips slide down my neck, across my collarbone, and cover my heaving chest, it’s just…different. Sometimes you do something in bed because you know it will impress your partner, because you know it’s a “good move,” or because it will make them want you more. But Oliver kisses my skin like it’s all he wants to taste for the rest of eternity. He covers my body with his, pressing me down with his weight, and his mouth is somehow _everywhere_. He kisses my mouth, and I have to wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze my thighs against his hips, just to cling to him with my whole self. Then his lips travel down, pressing, sucking, biting, his tongue slips hot and wet over my sensitized skin, and I fall through the air, limbs weak and spread, a supplicant splayed out for his consumption.

 

And he does consume me. He tastes and nips, hums against my skin, grips my side or presses my biceps into the mattress next to my head. He holds me in place, and it’s probably a good thing, because he gets me so worked up I would probably vibrate off the bed if let free.

 

He’s so eager, and early on, when I was stupid, when I didn’t know what I had found, I used to think it was a reflection of how hot I was. It boosted my ego even higher than before, because he looked at me and touched me like I was precious. Like I was a prize. But, god, I was missing it. I _was_ precious, special to him, but not in the way I thought. Oliver doesn’t do casual sex. He does intimacy, and love, and connections. So even the very first time we slept together, he was with _me_. I misread it because I’d never seen it before, but his eyes on me, his hands on my body, his breath in my ear, those were expressions of a connection between two humans, two souls, not the greedy gaze of a collector of trophies.

 

So now I know that when he slides his body over mine, grazing our chests together and grinding against my hips, he’s not just looking for release. I’m _not_ interchangeable. I’m _not_ replaceable. And that’s new for me. Oliver kisses me, touches me, clings to me, to _me_ , because he loves me. I know that he loves me, and even if he didn’t tell me all the time, even if he didn’t sometimes repeat _I more than like you_ in a teasing tone that brightens the phrase from its tension-filled, desperate origins, I could feel it in every touch and breath and kiss. Because his kisses, god, they’re the best.


End file.
